Ann Cleeves - Telling Tales

Vera caught up with Dan Greenwood in Wendy’s cottage on the Point. She thought she deserved some light relief before she left for the north. It was the next morning. She hadn’t been to bed. The night had been a blur, a nightmare. She remembered Robert standing by the kitchen door at Springhead as they’d led his wife away into the freezing night. “One day, Mary, I hope I’ll be able to forgive you.” What had all that been about? A grand theatrical gesture which meant fuck all. She’d have liked to charge him too, but Ashworth had persuaded her that they had no grounds. Winter had never had sex with Zoe Sullivan. The mother had been quite clear about that. Probably not with Abigail either. Two murders and nothing but a sad, middle-aged man’s fantasies as a reason for them. A sad middle-aged man and a mad middle-aged woman. He’d be back at church on Sunday and no doubt the old ladies would rally round, offering him home-made soup and sympathy.

Wendy opened the door. She was in her dressing gown.

“I want to see Greenwood,” Vera said.

Wendy hesitated.

“Don’t piss me around. I know he’s here. Emma Bennett saw you together last night in the pottery.”

“Poor Emma,” Wendy said. “I think she had a bit of a crush.”

“Don’t tell Danny boy that. You don’t want to flatter him. He’s not in any bother. I’m just here to say goodbye.” She raised her voice. “Come on down, Dan. Decent or not.”

She followed Wendy into the cottage. She wondered if she was wearing knickers under the dressing gown. Black knickers with a sequinned heart. Of all the places in El vet, this was the house where Vera felt most at home. She loved the untidiness, the view over the water. Danny emerged down the stairs. He was still pulling a jersey over his head. “How long’s this been going on?” she demanded.

“I don’t know. A couple of months.” Wendy was grinning, couldn’t help herself. She perched on the arm of the chair where Danny was sitting, could hardly stop herself from touching him.

“Why did you keep it quiet?”

“Wouldn’t you? A place like this?”

“Aye, maybe.” She stood by the window, looked out. “It’s all over,” she said. “There’s someone in custody.”

“Who?” Danny asked.

“Mary Winter, the mother of the lass who found the body.”

“My God!” He sat quite still for a moment, trying to take it in. “Why did she kill them?”

“God knows,” Vera said. “She says she thought she was acting for the best, but I’m not sure I believe her. Simple jealousy perhaps, because the lass was young and bonny and the husband fancied her. That’s for the lawyers to fight over. But it’ll make no difference to the verdict. It’s over.”

“A bit late for Jeanie Long.”

“Not for you, though. Time to set it behind you.” A tanker was easing slowly up the river. “I found that file in your desk.”

“I wondered if you’d seen it.”

“For a while I wondered if you’d killed her.”

“No,” he said. “That was a different kind of obsession. I thought one day I might be able to put it right. Find the real murderer. Not that I did anything about it. Just took the file out every now and again to rub salt in the wound.”

“What will you do with it now?”

“Burn it.”

“Good luck,” Vera said, ‘with everything.”

“Thanks.”

“Right then. I’m off.”

“Home?”

“Aye,” she said. “North of the Tyne. Civilization.” She smiled broadly. “No offence.”

She had to drive through the village to pick Ashworth up from the hotel. She was forced to slow down at the Captain’s House to let a couple of kids run across the road and saw that Emma Bennett had returned home to James. She was sitting in the bedroom window, looking out over the square, apparently lost in thought. Like the heroine of some Victorian melodrama, Vera thought.

It was about time she got a life.

Ann Cleeves is the author behind ITV’s Vera and BBC One’s Shetland . She has written over twenty-five novels, and is the creator of detectives Vera Stanhope and Jimmy Perez – characters loved both on screen and in print. Her books have now sold over one million copies worldwide.

Ann worked as a probation officer, bird observatory cook and auxiliary coastguard before she started writing. She is a member of ‘Murder Squad’, working with other northern writers to promote crime fiction. In 2006 Ann was awarded the Duncan Lawrie Dagger (CWA Gold Dagger) for Best Crime Novel, for Raven Black , the first book in her Shetland series. In 2012 she was inducted into the CWA Crime Thriller Awards Hall of Fame. Ann lives in North Tyneside.

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